Chapter 1: The Captain’s Visit

At first, Redalgar starships looked small. Perhaps they were, compared to dreadnaughts and battleships of the Terran Federation. Up close, that illusion began to evaporate as the alien cruiser’s hold swallowed my shuttle. Automatic systems pulled my craft into a docking cradle that seemed to be made of liquid metal, adjusting to my shuttle contours in moments.

After a minute of shutting down systems, I was stepping through a mating tube, then hesitated. Ahead, a spacious chamber with a low ceiling offered no conventional door, no hatch, just a curiously marked bulkhead pattern. The hangar airlock closed behind me with a faint hiss of air. Decontamination lights flared, air swirled, and then another portal dilated open. I stepped through and stared about. Suit sensors indicated a relatively normal atmosphere, showing mixed oxygen, nitrogen, and a trace of carbon dioxide. After my biometric scanner gave a green light, I released seals, removing the environment suit helmet and sniffing the air. A faint, spice scent like cinnamon and something else I couldn’t identify tickled my nostrils.

Without a sound, the wall ahead blurred, then swiftly dilated open. Again, it seemed like a type of liquid metal—either that or it was a holographic illusion. Slightly apprehensive, I ducked low, stepping into a rather luxuriously appointed chamber. Light paneling that looked like reddish wood lined the walls. Behind me, the opening seemed to contract and melt shut. There was no other way to describe the unexpected phenomena.

I glanced around. The alien commander was there. She waited, watching curiously. My first encounter with a living Redalgar left me bemused. The ship commander was alone, and I had been informed that the alien would be a female. She wasn’t flanked by guards. She wasn’t clad in a battle suit. She wasn’t even armed with a weapon belt. However prepared, no matter how many holographic images of reconstructed Redalgar bodies I’d reviewed, the distinctly alien commander was shockingly beautiful. From large triangular ears to an arching, fluffy tail, she had a rich pelt of silky fur. There were shades of iridescent, dark red amid the predominant black.

To many humans, Redalgar looked like a very large desert kit fox, melded with hindquarters similar to those of a kangaroo. There was no describing her tail. Though anthropomorphism had no place in our meeting, my human memory couldn’t help but notice certain aspects of her structure and associate them with terran creatures.

At sight of me in my suit, she seemed curious, with expressive eyes and mobile features. Overall, she was quite impressive.

Her erect ruff and sleek pelt kept fluffing, adding expression to her every movement. Her neck ruff was a dark red, showing abundant black highlights. Her muzzle was pointed, black, and bronze, like the huge, triangular ears.

“Human,” she stated with a curiously inflected, soprano trill. There was no question that her initial appraisal held a hint of disdain. When she looked me up and down, slender claws were partly unsheathed from long, multi-jointed, delicate fingers. Her lips trembled but didn’t curl into a threat display of equally dangerous fangs.

She leaned forward, black whiskers twitching. Dark bronze Nostrils flared, sniffing uncertainly. Well, Captain, at least you don’t stink.”

A bit surprised by her use of oddly inflected Galac, I copied her action, deliberately sniffing. To my surprise, I drew in a sweet, musky fragrance hinting strongly of cinnamon and some indefinable, rather exotic earth spice.

“Thank you, Lady,” I said pleasantly in the same standard Galac, inclining my head. “You smell lovely, like an exotic Terran spice.”

“Lovely? A spice?” She blinked rapidly, apparently startled by my response. Lethal claws vanished, retracting faster than my eyes could follow. She concealed the shadow of a smile, preening, stroking her whiskers with both hands—they were hands, not paws, though each finger was multi-jointed and long—and, though retracted, her claws were deadly dangerous.

Her tail lifted, curling forward, red and dark bronze fluffing even more, revealing shimmering, black highlights amid long, silky fur.

“Yes, Lady,” I answered with a degree of spontaneity that was unfeigned. “Very pleasant, and your tail is beautiful. Something to be envied.”

“Envied?” she piped, quirking one brow in a very human manner. “Is that mockery from a species without a tail or fur? Or, an attempt at flattery?”

“No mockery intended, Lady. Perhaps a little envy though.” I shrugged. Two years of conditioning prevented offering a friendly smile.

Not even a grin would do. Any display of teeth could be fatal. A few survivors had seen the result of that very human expression. To Redalgar, a show of fangs was insult and challenge. Early encounters with eager human explorers and friendly anthropologists had not gone well.

I ducked my head, saying, “Lady, my species certainly lacks pleasing features, while you are the most exquisite extraterrestrial creature I have ever had the pleasure of meeting.”

“Exquisite? A creature?” She scowled, rearing up to her full height so that her nose was at a level and almost touching mine. The sweet, spicy aroma filled my nostrils while she gave me a lofty appraisal.

Vertical black pupils in gold sclera totally captured my focus. A tickling prickle crawled over my scalp, then her psi power brushed thoughts, her mental presence something like a feathery, rustling breath inside my skull.

I was seriously thankful that years of hypnotic conditioning had prepared me. Efforts of numerous telepaths, compounded by intensive counseling from empaths, had done their part. She blinked again, subsiding, thoughtfully cocking her head at me.

“You are different from what one expected,” she mused aloud. “Not empty flattery. Not a prepared or studied compliment. Spontaneous. How unusual and refreshing.”

With consummate slowness, I sank to one knee. Instead of bowing, I lifted my chin, tilting back my head. No longer protected by a helmet, my throat was exposed and vulnerable. Even with enhanced, bio-engineered reactions, I likely couldn’t evade a swipe if she extended razor-honed claws. My deliberate show of submission and humility would make or break the mission.

“One was chosen because of personality ... and some differences, and then prepared,” I said, staring at a point several centimeters above her head. Those large, pointed ears flicked. Instead of claws slicing open arteries, thick but delicate finger pads slowly traced a path down my throat. Tension left me in a rush, and I let out a controlled breath. Without certain knowledge, I felt that her gesture was one of acceptance, somehow communicating respect.

“For brevity, you may call me Whelf.”

Her introduction seemed friendly. “Interesting,” she murmured, that same delicate fingertip coming up to explore the shape of a heavily bearded chin before grazing an equally hairy cheek. When it ran over my left ear, I flushed. The sensation her touch evoked was surprisingly erotic. She reached higher, opposing thumb and forefinger lifting a lock of hair that was far beyond regulation in length.

“I cannot return the compliment. Your flat, human features are not at all attractive,” she told me dryly, needle tips of claws combing back through wavy, long black hair that fell to my shoulder blades. “A shame your entire body isn’t covered with a pelt like this. It feels ... nice.”

Her hand withdrew. I was very glad fleet regulations had been suspended, allowing my hair and beard to grow out for more than two standard years.

“Lady ... Whelf, one is named Azrell,” I told her, not a little surprised by her words, and that with her relaxation, the arrogant pose had evaporated.

“Rise then, Azrell,” she ordered, carelessly flipping a palm up. Her black nostrils wrinkled. “One supposes the rest of you is as hairless and revolting as a newborn pup?”

I stifled a chuckle, then replied carefully, “No, Lady, not entirely.”

“Not entirely?” She tilted her head, her ears flicking with agitation. “You remain clothed and armed,” she stated, pointing a finger at my personal weapon and equipment belt, once again cocking that imperious eyebrow. “But, as a token of our hope for reconciliation, we stand before you naked and unarmed.”

“Naked?” That startled me, along with the realization that I must be the first human to see a living Redalgar who wasn’t wearing a full environmental suit or heavy battle armor.

There had been too many interstellar skirmishes with fatalities on both sides. All the various parts of Redalgar bodies had been recovered by fast scout ships after battles. I was told that not one Redalgar had ever been captured alive or intact.

We had photographed Redalgar and autopsied them, but Federation experts assumed that the luxurious fur pelts precluded the need for clothing. Apparently, the experts hadn’t considered Redalgar might also indulge the vanity of fashion. Obviously, she was challenging me. I considered, understanding that I had to reciprocate. There wasn’t an option. At least, in some measure, I was empathically conditioned and psychologically adaptable.

“Your pardon, please, Lady,” I demurred, setting my helmet on the deck. “Allow me to shed everything.”

She gave me an imperious nod. I unclipped my weapon belt, laying it down with the helmet, quickly opening suit seals. I peeled off the outer layer.